BJ's Run

The expression "going for a [insert item name here] run" as in "going for a beer run" or "going for a Sheetz* run" is but a joke in this life with an infant. There is no "running out for a ..." with the infant. There are only planned ventures; there are only errands that always take longer than you expect. And I'm not complaining because a hot little Saturday night to me is a trip to B.J.'s with my family. All my peeps be bizouncin' up n' down the iz-aisles. For Baby Girl, each warehouse shelf is a sensory overload of colors and lights. For Papa John, the opportunities to embarrass his wife in public are vast, what with the economy size pack of clinical strength deodorant, KENNY, YOU WANNA TRY THAT?

This past Saturday night, the whole trip door to door took us about 2.5 hours and we were totally checking the website per usual to see what time it closed just in case we'd be cutting it close. I suppose some people aspire to close down the bar. We somehow manage to close down B.J.'s more often than not. We would so not make it as Europeans.

*Unless you colleged in Western PA, and have a penchant for sub sammy at 2 a.m., this reference may go unappreciated.

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This picture probably doesn't charm the pants off of anyone here, but I just adore it. She's riding in her carrier with her daddy, and her face is just so mild and yet curious. I love her.